Wolfmother
= Personality = The Wolfmother usually seems somewhat cheerfully spacey, but really it's just that she's perceiving things most people can't even imagine. When it's time to work on something, though, her attention narrows back down to this reality, and she becomes rather businesslike, taking a no-nonsense, no-frills approach to most problems. It's almost impossible to imagine her actually angry, but when something does draw her fury, the consequences are dire, sometimes fatal. = Paradigm = How do you describe instinct? How do you teach it? You don't. You experience it. You live it, or you die by it. There is no thought when it comes to instinct, only action. Similarly, there is very little in the way of thought in the Wolfmother's Paradigm. Need flows into action seamlessly, requiring skills and attributes to assuage that need. She simply has different skills than most, different attributes and abilities. Different needs. = Sheet = Attributes: : Physical: Strength 2, Dexterity 2, Stamina 2 : Social: Charisma 4, Manipulation 1, Appearance 3 : Mental: Perception 3, Intelligence 3, Wits 4 Abilities: : Talents: Athletics 2, Brawl 1, Dodge 1, Empathy 2, Expression 1, Insight 1, Primal Urge 2, Resistance 1, Sensitivity 3, Vigilance 2 : Skills: Animal Ken 3, Crafts 1, Meditation 3, Stealth 1, Survival 3 : Knowledges: Enigmas 2, Lore (Garou) 1, Medicine 1, Occult 3, Rituals 2 Advantages: : Spheres: Life 5 (Specialty: Shapeshifting), Mind 2, Matter 3, Spirit 2, Prime 3 : Arete: 5 : Willpower: 7 : Backgrounds: Avatar 3, Retainers 2 (wolf pack), Dream 2 : Merits: Spark of Life (5) : Flaws: Primal Marks (2), Witch's Bane (4) Freebies +2 Willpower (2) +4 Arete (16) +9 Abilities (18) +5 Spheres (35) +5 Merits -6 Flaws = 70 Expanded Descriptions Attributes ; Charisma (Personable) :Maybe it's her easy, near-constant smile. Maybe it's the gentle look in her eyes. Maybe it's the way her touch seems to ease ache and release tension. Maybe it's something else. Folks just seem to like the Wolfmother, and like spending time near her. ; Wits (Survival) :After you've lived in the wild as long as she has, in all the various shapes she's worn, you stop thinking about survival and just do it. Abilities ; Animal Ken (Wild Animals) :She's lived among animals for longer than she has humans, at this point, and frequently in their own shapes as well. It could be argued she understands them better than she does her own species. ; Crafts (Leatherworking) :Might as well use the hides of the things she eats for something useful. Humanfolk tend to look at you funny if you wander around naked, for some reason. Merits and Flaws ; Primal Marks : Whether it's her tawny brown hair or the pale blue eyes, or maybe just the way she tends to move, there isn't much mystery as to why the Wolfmother got her name. ; Witch's Bane : Anyone holding cold iron receives an automatic three dice of countermagic against the Wolfmother. Also, the very touch of it to her skin is painful for her, and she will take one level of bashing damage for every turn it remains in contact. Backgrounds ; Avatar : The Old Father Wolf himself, from so far back in the mists of time that any name He might have once possessed has long, long been forgotten. He has grown slow and calm in his age, willing to watch the world scamper past and chuckle as it stumbles into things, though His fangs and claws remain as sharp as ever. ; Retainers : The Wolfmother is not simply an honorary title. She is the alpha female of a small, traveling pack of wolves, many of them her own pups. Foci ; Life (Blood) : If anything could be said to be the true carrier of life, it would be blood. Nothing can survive without it, fish or fowl, man or beast. It cleans the wounds from which it flows, and even just a speck of a person's blood holds a strong link with that person for quite some time. (Discarded) ; Mind (Eye-contact) : The eyes are windows to the soul. Cliche, maybe, but in this case something approaching the truth. To simply sense with Mind, the Wolfmother just needs line-of-sight, but to project, she must meet the eyes of her target. And no, things like pictures or video-feeds don't count for line-of-sight. ; Matter (Ritual knife) : Though iron itself has proven itself the Wolfmother's foe, flint remains her friend, and assists her in communicating with other earthly materials. (Discarded) ; Spirit (Smoke) : The smoke of certain herbs when burned has long been a way to call the spirit world closer, either by giving the spirits something to manipulate for communication or by drawing the consciousness of those nearby closer to the spirit world itself. (Discarded) ; Prime (Fire) : Ever since lightning touched the living wood, fire has held a special place in the hearts and minds of the living. It is a source of heat, light... power. Pure, raw, and dangerous though useful power. (Discarded) = History = Far, far back in history, there have been witches in the woods of Colorado. Even before such a state was named. Even as the white man struggled to tame this New World, struggled against its natural defenders, struggled against those that lived with them... others came not to conquer, but to learn. Among them were some that would later be called Verbena. Mages, willworkers of a primal sort. They had known of their "cousins" in this land before, those that would be called the Dreamspeakers in the years to come, and they worked together to ensure that not all was scourged away before the hunger of the expansionists. But that was a time long past. This story takes place in much more recent times. Every town has its myths and folklore. Some rickety old house that folks agree is probably haunted. Some cave that the children dare each other to shout "I'm not afraid" into before running off cackling. Some patch of woods that everyone's sure is home to something weird. Sometimes they're even right, even if they don't truly know it. Like that strange old place out past the edge of town. The folks that live there've always been kind of weird, don't come into town much, keep to themselves... She wasn't born in a big city, or even in a town, really. Oh, there was one nearby, if you counted nearly an hour's drive by car to a place with only a few stoplights. Her family even went there from time to time, hearkening back to the days when frontier families went to town for supplies or to trade. It was always an interesting time when Dad gathered everyone up in their growling beast of a minivan, loaded some things in the back or on the roof, and took them down the road for a day at town. She never even learned the name of the place. Everyone in her family just called it "the town." But that was alright, they all knew what they meant. From an early age, she knew there were things in the woods. Not just the bears, wolves, and similar critters most folks think of when they imagine a wilderness. No, she'd seen them. Strange creatures that weren't in any of the schoolbooks she read from with her siblings and cousins. Strange plants that moved in strange ways, whispered strange songs in their strange grottoes. But that was alright, her parents knew about them, too. Though they cautioned her never to tell the people in the town about the strangers in the woods. They might be frightened, or want to take them away, and certainly wouldn't understand the ways of the woods in any case. Better just to let them go on thinking there was nothing out here but bears, wolves, and the occasional hillbilly. And besides, it's fun to have a secret, isn't it? One day, when she was twelve, one of those things in the trees came calling. At first she thought it was just another man, coming out of the woods, but he was dressed like no man she'd ever seen before, all in rough leather and bones and feathers. She greeted him without fear, and he smiled and asked her if her parents were around. After she showed him to the front step, and her parents took him inside for a talk, the girl went back to what she'd been doing without a second thought for the strange man. After all, she was sure he had his business to attend to, just like everyone out here. And besides, the trees had been telling her the most marvelous stories... She didn't see the strange man again for another year, though she thought of him from time to time. Partly because she hadn't even see him leave. But her parents told her that he was alright, that he'd just been checking on something. When she asked what, they looked at each other, then looked at her, and then told her that it was a thing for the woods-people to tell her, not for them. A private thing, like. And while she could accept this, it made her curious. She wondered if there were some woods-people that she could ask? Well, of course there were, where else would he have come from? But... how to find them... Maybe the stones knew. It wasn't something she really thought about. Certainly not something she stopped to ask advice over. The idea caught her one night, and before she could even stop to mull it over her feet were moving. The moon overhead gave plenty of light for her to see, even in amongst the trees, so she didn't even think of a lantern until she was well on her way. But she wasn't afraid. She knew how the woods moved, could hear a bear before it came close enough to be a threat, and the sleepy murmurs of the trees during the night lulled her, made her smile. It was late, so late that it probably counted as early, when the girl paused. She wasn't sure what made her stop, but she knew that she should. She toed the ground, looked at the trees nearby, thinking. (Say hello.) She wasn't sure what inspired her, where the urge came from, but the girl tipped back her head and sang out a low, carrying note, her voice drifting through the night air like a scrap of wind-caught black cloth. And then she was answered. One by one, the wolves stepped out of the underbrush, and for a moment the girl was afraid. But there were no growls, no bared teeth, no threat gestures, and she relaxed again, dropping to her knees and lowering her eyes as she'd been taught was only polite. One must always be polite, among the forest people. When hands touched her hair, she looked up at the surprised face of the man from that day, and she smiled at his question as to her business. "I wanted to find what you were looking for." He laughed, and they talked as he walked her back to her family's home, leaving the wolves and the woods behind. They talked about the voices of the woods, the ways the smell of the very air changed as the year turned, and about little things like their favorite colors. Hers was gray, and his was orange. That night was the first time she was called by the name Curiosity, though it would not be the last. When she asked his name, he answered that it was Mantle of the Autumn Leaves, and she laughed. When they stepped into her house, her parents were waiting. They greeted the man, and asked if their daughter was alright. When she said that yes, she was, they suggested she go to bed, since it was by that point very late, and she'd been out and walking all night, silly girl. But even as she drifted off to sleep, she could hear the voices of her parents and the man from the woods. The very next day, she was taken to learn things that her parents could not teach her, to lessons that her siblings and cousins would not understand. But not among the forest-people, not among the wolf-brothers, though she walked deep into the forest to find her teacher. A woman that would tell her things that even she found wondrous. Already she could hear the soft songs of the trees, and could sometimes hear the stones if she listened very hard (they spoke so very slowly, most times), but under the guiding hand of the woods-witch, she discovered that she could do more than listen. She could speak. She could touch. She could dance. Seasons turned, years passed. She learned of the Verbena, learned of the other Traditions, learned of the true face of the world around them. She learned that her parents were known as Consors among those mages that cared for titles and fancy labels, aiding the Traditions as best they could in the struggle against Stasis, against the Technocracy, but with no true Magick themselves. She learned how it was the Verbena's place to tend the heartbeat of the world, to keep it free of the clog and cling of Stasis, let it grow, live and die as was only natural. Theirs was the path of blood, of Life. For many years, the only human she saw was her teacher. Even after, visits from outsiders were few and far between, largely amounting to a fellow Verbena or two stopping by to talk or on their way elsewhere. But the beasts of the woods, those she saw often. She walked among them, tended their hurts, listened to their voices, learned their ways. She could not run with them, not yet, but she knew that such things were possible. In time. The years turned. One day, her teacher told her there was nothing more for her to learn there. To grow further, she would have to leave the nest and fly on her own. She could go to a Chantry, a place of learning, to study alongside her fellow Mages. And for a time she did this. She walked the hallowed halls of ancient Chantries, listened to the wisdom of ancient teachers, pored over the words in ancient tomes. But that was not her way. The woods sang to her and she responded in kind. All too frequently, her room sat empty as she slept under the stars, or a lesson was missed as she sang with the birds. Luckily, the Traditions knew this was simply another way, and were not angry (though her mentors were sometimes frustrated), and neither were they at all surprised when she left them once more for the trees. Indeed, her latest Seeking stemmed from this. Her time within the Chantry, among the archmagi and talented mystics, had taught her that the place of the strong was behind walls, immured amongst stone and dust and time. This chafed at her in ways that went beyond mere claustrophobia. Hers was the way of Life, not Stasis. Not the stale scent of decay and dust that clung to everyone she heard called Master. It was this reticence, almost fear, that was the major stumbling block in her studies within the Chantry. No matter how much her tutors coaxed and prodded, she seemed... blocked. Until, one night, she simply could not stand the smell of dust and dank any longer and ran out into the trees, calling for her friends among the animals and her eternal companion, her Avatar. She did not return to the Chantry for many days, and some thought her perhaps lost. Or, sneered those that thought her objections mere excuses, fled to somewhere that would coddle her insecurities. What they did not know was the reason she could not be found. For she had shed her human form, her human mind, and ran beside her Avatar and His family, the true wolves. For days, she ran as a wolf, hunted as a wolf, dreamed as a wolf. When she awoke as a woman again, she saw that learning was not simply a thing of books and quiet study. Sometimes, to learn, you had to do. Had to fling caution to the winds and take that leap of faith. Only in submerging herself completely within the wolfmind had she been able to truly take its form, and not simply imitate it. It was this that showed her that being a Master was not a thing of sitting and thinking and reading, but a thing of doing. She returned to the Chantry, but only to say her goodbyes and collect what meager belongings she owned. She would go into the world, she said, and be a Master. Not talk about what it meant. It has been many years, since she left the chantry. Even longer since she last saw her teacher. In that time, she has learned the voice of her Avatar, the Old Wolf of a time long past, come so stealthily upon her all those years ago. She has weathered Seekings, and looked upon the face of the world unmasked. She has run with the beasts, hunted with the wolves, slept among the bears, nested among the owls, and borne their children all. She found her old friend Autumn Coat once more, but things were different now. He was of one kind, and she another. His name had changed, too, and now he called himself only Frost, for he was nearing the end of his time. Just as she was no longer Curiosity, but now was called Bounty. They were not enemies, though their people had sometimes clashed, and she learned from him as well, learned of the wolf-brothers and their ways. Learned that his people called themselves Garou, and that he was part of something like a Tradition, called Uktena. And from him she learned of a trouble, closer to the lands of man. A great Sickness that had been awoken by those that listened too much to old, dead books and not enough to living reason, and that Sickness had taken a terrible toll, both among his kind and hers. She listened to this tale, and went back into the woods to see what healing could be done. And so, the Wolfmother comes to the Crystal Springs, clad in the skins of beasts, bearing an ancient soul and the life of a star within her. Logs ;10/12/2009:The Wolfmother happens across a guardian at the edge of his territory. Log (1 temporary Paradox) ;10/22/2009:Meeting the local Glasswalker and giving him a bit of what-for. Log (1 temporary Paradox) ;10/29/2009:A chance meeting stops being light conversation when a little lost spirit happens by. Log ;11/08/2009:The Wolfmother happens across a wandering kinfolk, and gives her something of a gift. Log People ;Kennedy Parker:Nice young girl, and it looks like she's got enough steel in her to keep a hand on Nicholas. He'll need it. ;Marina Dale:Darling girl. So happy to be able to heal that hole in her heart. ;Nicholas Grey:A decent enough young man, but he's going to have to learn to stop abusing his body like that. ;Rommy Akana:Poor boy, to be so bitter so young. Category:Mages Category:Verbena Category:Current PCs